The Broken Prince
by alatariel-gildaen
Summary: What events could turn a normal little boy into such a broken man? Snape's life story from his own POV, from childhood to the end of HBP. Rated for violence, rape and murder in later chapters
1. 1st Septemeber 1971

A/N – I firstly want to apologise. I have got several versions of the next chapter of 'Second Chance,' and each have gone through several re-writes, and I'm still appalled that I've written something that bad. I thought my muse was slightly ill, but it would appear that it's actually in intensive care in hospital. But don't worry! It's not terminal! I think it just needs a slight holiday, and 'Second Chance' will be up and running pretty soon!

Anyways, this is something that just came to me pretty quickly whilst I've been on holiday. I've got loads of ideas for this one, so it should get written pretty quickly – it all just depends on when I can get my bro off the computer, lol! Hope you enjoy this, as it's pretty different from anything I've tried before. These are the most important events in Snape's life, the ones that have pretty much shaped him into who he has become. Be warned, here thar be major spoilers, for HBP in particular. And if you think ickle Snapey's a little OOC, then that's because the events that shaped him haven't occurred yet. That being said, enjoy, and don't forget to review! Cheers!

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1st September 1971

The platform bustles with people. I don't recall ever seeing so many people in one go. I feel a hand on my shoulder gently edging me forward. It is my mother. I look up into her face and cannot help but notice how drawn and haggard she looks. She is also even paler than usual, and the redness of her eyes betrays the fact that she has recently been crying. I choose not to ask her about it. I already know what she will say in return. "Nothing, Severus. Nothing." Always the same answer. And I also know what causes her this distress. It will be my father. For as long as I can remember, my mother and father have gone through cycles of firstly being cordial friends, then of ignoring each other to the point of being virtual strangers, and finally through a stage of fighting each other so brutally that it is a wonder they are both still alive. Judging from the shouting I heard last night, I feel they are about to enter one of their 'fighting cycles.' Every single stage of their relationship is about as far from perfect as it is possible to be, but out of all of them, this is the one I hate the most. During their frequent confrontations, my mother, without fail, ends up worse off than my father. Sometimes, having bested her, he then turns his attention onto me.

I once again look up at my mother. I can see no outward show of bruises but that means nothing. He tends to hit us only where it will not show, where it can be covered up with clothing. Part of me feels greatly relieved that I am able to escape this current cycle of violence, but a greater part of me is terrified of what he will do to her in my absence.

At home, overt displays of affection are usually frowned upon, but right now I feel the need of the reassurance that only a mother can provide. I reach out and take my mother's hand. This simple action evokes far more emotion in her than had been my intention, and I am overcome with guilt as a dry, quiet sob racks her throat. A single tear rolls down her cheek and she gently squeezes my hand.

However, the connection between us is fleeting and she soon breaks away. Others are beginning to board the train and she is anxious to see me safely on board before the last minute rush begins. She walks me towards the door of one of the carriages, kisses my forehead and says, "Good luck, Severus. See you at Christmas. Love you." I can see in her eyes that tears are threatening to fall again, but before they do, she turns and walks away without a backwards glance. I watch her until she disappears from view. A feeling of apprehension settles around my shoulders as I watch her pass trough the barrier back into the Muggle world, as if I will never see her again.

I shake myself out of the feeling of melancholy, deciding that my attention would be better focused on finding a seat. The train itself is almost as hectic as the platform outside as friends greet each other to discuss the events of the long hot summer. I walk the length of the train in search of an empty carriage; I have no desire to intrude on the conversations of those wishing to catch up with each other. No, I well understand the value of solitude, and my wish is to be left alone with my new, prized possession.

Approximately half way down the train I find an empty carriage and seat myself next to the window. I savour the moment as I take my aforementioned prized possession out of my bag. It is a gift from my mother; a brand new book. This may not seem much to a lot of people, but this is one of only two things I have ever owned that is not second-hand; the other, of course, being my wand. The book has been wrapped in a piece of purple silk, and as I open this I am greeted with the most delectable scent of fresh ink and new leather. I trace the name of the book embossed in gold filigree on the outside with a fingertip - "_Moste Potente Potions._" This may seem a rather unorthodox text for an eleven year old boy, but then I suppose I am not like most eleven year old boys. I habour no interest in Quidditch or comic books. Instead, I find myself fascinated by logic and the science of magic, and out of all my subjects I am soon to learn, Potions is the one I am looking forward to the most. This text is certainly not one taught on our current curriculum, but mother believe I am advanced enough to be able to follow and understand the potions described in here, and so it is with a sense of pride I open it to the first page. I don't know how she was able to afford such a wonderful book, and for the second time today I feel guilty. However, there is very little I can do, and so instead I swear to look after it with my life, and to make her proud of me.

I am soon drawn into the book's ineffable pages. It is my opinion that books are the best friends anyone can have; they offer everything they own, and demand nothing in return. I could easily while away many an hour in the company of a good book.

For a brief moment I look up, and it is with a slight sense of surprise that I realise I am no longer alone. Sat opposite me is a boy of my age, round-faced, with small, watery eyes. He has a slightly vacant look to him, and it disconcerts me that he made no attempt to inform me of his entrance, choosing instead to sit opposite me, staring, mouth slightly open. He has also made no attempt to introduce himself, or even to stop staring despite the fact that I have quite clearly noticed his presence. I find I am embarrassed and uncomfortable under his gaze, and unsure of what to say to such a person, I turn my attention resolutely back to my book.

It is not long before my peace is once again disturbed. This time two boy enter. Again, they look to be the same age as me, but unlike the first boy, who appeared so vacant one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a zombie, these look to be so full of confidence that I find myself slightly intimidated by their appearance. I am, however, slightly grateful, as they have drawn the attention of the vacant-boy away from me.

"Wow. Life and soul of the party in here," remarks one of the boys. He is the slightly shorter of the two, with extremely messy black hair. The other boy laughs appreciatively at this comment, and even vacant-boy giggles slightly. I notice that the slyly look at one another, and a smile that does not seem to reach their eyes appears in the corner of their mouths. For a moment I think they are going to leave for another carriage, and I hope they do, but I am disappointed.

"Well," says the other boy, "I hope you're all ready to have some fun, 'cos me 'n' James here don't want to be stuck sat in a boring carriage. I'm Sirius by the way." As he says this he flicks his hair out of his eyes. My immediate impression is one of extreme arrogance, and I take an instant dislike to him.

Vacant-boy, however, appears to be most impressed. He shifts himself closer to James and Sirius and says in a voice that sounds almost breathless with awe, "I'm Peter."

I already can tell that neither Peter, James nor Sirius are people I wish to be associated with and so I make no attempt to introduce myself. However, I am still wary of them, and so continue to watch them for a few minutes over the top of my book. Sirius soon notices this and says nastily, "What're you staring at?"

James snorts with laughter at this, and Peter takes James' laughter as his own cue to laugh as if this is the most hilarious thing he has ever heard. I find this most unfair, as Peter is easily the most gormless person I have ever laid eyes on.

"Nothing," I say back to them, and begin trying to read my book again.

Out of the corner of my eye I see James stand up and cross over to sit down next to me. "I didn't catch your name," he says.

I have no wish to draw James into conversation, and so I mumble back, "Severus," hoping that by keeping my voice low and my eyes on the page in front of me, he will take the hint and leave me alone. It does not have the desired effect.

"Snivellus?" he says loudly, and once again he roars with laughter, Sirius and Peter following suite.

"Severus," I snap back, a little louder this time, as he clearly mis-heard me the first time.

He laughs again. "Snivellus suits you better. Come on," he says to the other boys, "Let's leave old Snivelly to mope around on his own."

I am intensely relieved as I watch James and the others stand, but before they leave the carriage another figure appears at the door. He is clearly another boy of our age, but somehow has the bearing of someone a lot older. His mousy, brown hair is neatly clipped, and he appears exhausted.

"Is it OK if I join you in here?" he asks the carriage. "Only everywhere else is full." He looks around expectantly.

Sirius is the first to answer. "Course it is. Sorry, Snivellus, looks like you're stuck with us."

"Sorry we're stuck with him, more like," laughs James in reply.

The new boy introduces himself as Remus John Lupin, and is soon welcomed into the group. For my part I am finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on my book with the constant chatter. Remus John Lupin appears to be much politer and more sensible than the other three boys, and for a moment I wish I had met him first, but I know there will not be a friendship made there now.

For a moment Remus breaks away from the main group and directs his attention to me. "Sorry to interrupt," he says, and my heart lifts slightly – perhaps thee is still hope, "What's your name?" My heart sinks. I already know what response I will get as I resignedly open my mouth to tell him.

"That's just Snivellus," says James.

"Don't worry about him," adds Sirius. "He's not one of us."

I feel the anger swelling rapidly in my chest. Their treatment of me is so unjustified. "My name is Severus," I bite out, but instantly regret my outburst as the only response it illicits is another round of laughter. The more they laugh, the angrier I fell myself becoming. And the only image that I can focus on is my mother's expectant face, and her high hopes for me, and how I had sworn to make her proud. And how I've been on my own for a bare half an hour, and have already made a room full of enemies purely by telling them my name.

I look back down at the pages of _Moste Potente Potions_ and am horrified to discover that I can't focus on the words; a layer of tears obscures my view. I desperately blink them back as the last thing I need for them to know is how much they have affected me. I wish there was somewhere else for me to go, but Remus has already proven that this is not the case. And so I continue to stare unseeing at the pages in front of me purely as a way of not attracting any more attention.

After a while a woman appears at the door to our carriage. She has a round, jovial face, and asks us in a genial voice if we want anything from the trolley. At this my eyes are drawn to the trolley in question, almost overflowing with sweets, pastries, pies, sandwiches, chocolates and juice, and I find my stomach growling and my mouth inadvertently begins to water. I wish I could try everything as it all looks so delicious, but sadly I have no money. Mother and father have little enough between them as it is, and certainly not enough to give to me to waste on food, not when we will be arriving at Hogwarts in a few hours and there will be a free banquet.

I notice Remus looking at the trolley rather wistfully. He is clearly in a similar financial situation to me. James, however, appears to have no such problems with money. He also notices Remus, and then, in a gesture he obviously thinks is generous, but which I find to be the epitome of arrogance, he pulls out of his satchel a money bag brimming with coins. I have never seen so much money, and find that I now dislike him even more. He then proceeds to buy a little of everything for everyone to try.

The boys then tuck in to their splendid feast. I am not offered any, and now have to turn away and look out o the window as I don not wish for them to see me looking on with envy. In the reflected glass I am sure I spy Remus move as if to offer me something, then change his mind and turn back to his companions. I am beginning to dislike him also, as he clearly is unable to stand up for what he believes in.

After what seems to be an age they finally all finish eating. There are still some things that remain untouched and uneaten, but I know better than to hope they will be offered to me. My stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly once again, and James and Sirius snicker in response.

Anyway, who cares that he can afford to show off in such a fashion. Just because he has money doesn't mean he can buy intelligence and knowledge, and that's all that matters to me. And when someone can throw money around like that, they don't appreciate what they've got. Not like me. He'd never appreciate something as wonderful as my book, for example. I bend over the book slightly more, savouring every word it tells me. It is not long, however, before my reverie is once again disturbed.

"Whatcha reading, Snivelly?" asks James loudly

I sense trouble at this. I don't want them to know too much about my book. They wouldn't understand how much it means to me, and I don't want them to know, so I carefully close it and begin to wrap it in the piece of silk. "Nothing," I say.

This does not satisfy James and in an instant he has grabbed my book and torn the piece of silk from it. I leap up after him, but Sirius grabs hold of me. He is much stronger than I am, and I struggle against his grip, but to no avail.

"_Moste Potente Potions?"_ sneers James in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

I struggle once again and shout at him, "Give it back!"

He lets the book fall open and I inwardly cringe – he must have bent the spine. When you have that much money you have no respect for property, least of all that belonging to other people. He begins to read the page, and a look of disgust forms on his face.

"You some kind of freak, or something?"

I struggle again; there is little else I can do, and I once again beseech him to return my precious book to me.

"What are you doing, bringing a book like this into school? Learning Dark Magic? You make me sick."

"It's...Potions..." I'm struggling to speak now as the panic rises in my chest, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. I've got to get it back.

"It's Dark Magic, and I'm not letting you take it into school."

James pulls open the window. I swear my heart has stopped beating. I know what is going to happen and yet I'm completely powerless to stop it. He appears to be moving in slow motion. From far away I can hear someone shouting and screaming and swearing, and it takes a while for me to realise that it is me. I can feel the tears pouring down my face; white hot tears that are burning like acid. I can hear them laughing at me, but I don't care. All I can focus on is my beautiful book, and how it is slowly slipping from his grasp. I cannot quite believe it that he has actually gone through with it. For a moment it appears that time has stopped completely, and I can see that for a second my book appears suspended motionless in mid-air before the train speeds on and it plummets from view. The iron grip which held me bound and captive is lessened, but I am frozen with horror. My brain is numb with shock, and I can only hope that this is a bad dream; that soon I will wake up and mother will take me to the station, and my day will start again, and I wont meet James or Sirius or Peter or Remus John Lupin, and my book will be waiting for me to treasure.

Slowly, the ice freezing my brain thaws out and is replaced by a burning red mist and a deep desire to hurt the grinning face in front of me.

"You'll pay for that," I say.

"Make me, Snivelly. You want to be a Dark Wizard? So show me how much you know."

Little does he know that I know plenty of hexes and curses. I've not tried them out, not yet, but I feel confident I can make them work. I'll make him regret doing that. I'm just about to reach into my robes for my wand when I hear a small, sad, quiet voice.

"You shouldn't have done that, James"

It is Remus. He looks worried and a little frightened. He should be.

I stare at James and the hatred I feel for him right now appears to be matched only by the hatred on his own face. He is the first to back down.

"Fine," he says. He reaches for his money bag, pulls out a handful of coins and throws them at me. "Get yourself a new one, Snivellus. But just so you know, I'm going to be an Auror when I grow up, so I wouldn't put too much faith in all that Dark Magic. 'Cos if you do, I'll make sure you end up rotting in Azkaban."

He turns back to his friends, and within minutes they are talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. Only Remus continues to watch me warily, but eventually he tires of this and turns back to the group.

More than ever I wish I was alone. I look around at the mass of coins around me and hate how I've never had money, and how James has, and how cheap he's made me feel. I wont let him buy me off. Now matter how much I desperately want to pick that money up, I will not do it. And so instead I sit here, planning my revenge. I imagine throwing him out of the window in the way he threw my book. I imagine casting a spell on him that would force him to crawl on his hands and knees like an animal for the rest of his life. I imagine him devouring some poisonous chocolates that would leave him in agony for hours whilst I stand over him with the antidote, and him begging me for help. And then I'd refuse, and I'd laugh at his misery so he knows what it's like.

I look outside the window. It's dark now, but I can see the twinkling lights of a village, and it appears that the train is slowing down. I feel that perhaps we are nearing our destination.

It would appear that my suspicion is shared by others, as a wave of excited chattering spreads over the train. With an intense amount of relief I watch as the other four boys gather themselves together and head out into the corridor, finally leaving me alone. I drop my head into my hands and quietly cry. I am frightened, friendless and alone, and I wish my mother was here.

On the floor I spy one of the coins that James threw at me. I look around the now empty carriage and count the coins. There are eleven galleons, four sickles and eight knuts. It disgusts me that he could be so frivolous with money, and although I am inwardly screaming at myself to leave it, I gather up all the dropped coins. I cannot allow mother to know what happened to the gift she would have worked so hard to afford, and so I must replace it without her knowing. It will not, of course, mean the same to me, but if it protects her from the knowledge that I am weak and unable to look after such valuable things then it will be worth it.

It is with a small amount of trepidation that I exit the train. I stay as far back from James, Sirius and the others as possible; the purloined coins are jangling slightly in my pocket, and I don't want them to know I took them.

Outside the air smells fresh after being on the train all day. The air is cool but not chilly, and a pleasant breeze brings my mind to alertness.

Behind me I hear a gruff voice calling, "Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere! Quick no, else you wan' ta be lef' behind!"

It is not difficult to locate the source of the voice. A man the size of a mountain is stood at one end of the platform. Mother used to tell me scary stories about the giants who once dwelled in England. She would jokingly tell me that if I didn't behave she would go out and find a giant to eat me for breakfast. If I got scared she would soothingly tell me not to worry, that there were no more giants left in England, but surely she is mistaken. I half wonder if this isn't some trap, but some of the older pupils great the man-mountain, and I feel more assured of safety.

He leads us to the edge of the lake to where some small boats await us. Again, I am careful to ensure I choose a boat away from the boys I shared the carriage with. The waters look deep, and I have never been a strong swimmer. I can well imagine James or Sirius taking great pleasure in pushing me over the edge of a boat.

As we set off over the water the boys are pushed from my mind as the sight that greets us is simply breathtaking. I have seen drawings of Hogwarts Castle, but clearly none of them do it any real justice. It amazes me that it is possible for a castle to look both regal, imposing and welcoming in one go, but Hogwarts does.

Mother has told me about the Sorting ceremony, and with a small amount of amusement I listen to the conversations around me. Some claim that a magical test has to be performed, others are convinced that every new pupil has to race along an obstacle course, and the Sorting depends on the results. I know what to expect though, but I don't know which house the Hat will place me in. Mother was in Ravenclaw, and I know that it sometimes runs in the family, but it is not a guarantee. Mother has already said that she doesn't mind which house I'm in, and that she will be proud of me whatever, and for my part I don't really mind, as long as I don't end up with James or Sirius.

It does not take us long to cross the lake, and we soon find ourselves in the Entrance hall. It is warm, welcoming, and the most delicious smells greet my nostrils – baking bread, roast meats, pies and cakes. A rather severe-looking woman awaits us and talks us through the Sorting process, but I cannot listen to her; I know this already, and I have not eaten since this morning. I cannot wait to get through those enormous double doors and get started on the feast.

My wish is soon granted. The woman pushes open the doors and we all file through, open mouthed with awe. The hall seems to go on forever, and I am a little embarrassed at having to walk past so may expectant faces.

I am barely aware of the Sorting Hat being brought out and placed reverently on a wooden stool. I am hardly able to register my surprise when a tear in the Hat opens and it begins to sing. I am beginning to get nervous now, and I just want to get this over with.

Amobi, Massima, is the first to be sorted. She looks utterly terrified as she walks onto the raised dais and sits on the stool. After a few moments the Hat shouts, "RAVENCLAW!" and an enormous cheer erupts from one of the tables. An equally loud cheer comes from another table as Barker, Deborah, is made the first Slytherin.

The next name called is Black Sirius. My ears prick up at this. He walks forward with an ease and confidence I know that I could never muster. He is grinning as the Hat is placed over his head, and almost instantly it shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!" He practically jogs to the Gryffindor table, reveling in the cheers and applause he receives.

I barely notice as Burgess, Katie is sent to Hufflepuff and Caterall, John becomes the second Ravenclaw. Instead I'm beginning to worry about where I'll be sent. What if I end up in Gryffindor, alongside Sirius Black? What if each of the boys from the train end up in a different house, and there would be no avoiding them? I shake myself. Cross that bridge if you come to it.

"Chhabra, Rani," calls the severe woman, now identified as Professor McGonagall. "HUFFLEPUFF!" calls the Hat in reply.

"Deruta, Ericsson." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Easterlow, Matthias." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Evans, Lily." "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Hawthorne, Mina." "SLYTHERIN!"

It becomes a kind of rhythmic mantra, vaguely hypnotic. All the names seem to run into one another until I hear another familiar one.

"Lupin, Remus."

He looks as nervous as I feel. Professor McGonagall places the Hat over his head. There is a pause of around twenty seconds before the Hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

That has definitely made me more nervous, and I hope to the gods that I am not sent sent to Gryffindor. It would have been bad enough having to deal with one of them, but having two in the same house would be a nightmare. Still, my heart lifts slightly – even if the other two are sent to different houses, there will be one house completely free of them, and if I'm sent there...

So many 'ifs'... I'm getting a headache from the worry. I gently rub my temples as Markham, Samantha, Marlowe, Jessica, and Norris, Hannah, are sent to Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff respectively.

Pettigrew, Peter is the next name called out, and vacant-boy steps forward. The Hat is placed over his head, and there is silence. I find it amusing, and hope a mistake has been made. Perhaps he cannot be sorted and he will be sent home. There is a continued silence for nearly three minutes, until finally the Hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Potter, James follows immediately after, and much like Sirius, the Hat barely touches his head before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

My mind is made up then. I don't care where I go, as long as it is not Gryffindor. I want to prove I'm better than all those boys, and I will prove it, no matter what it takes.

There are only seven of us left waiting now, and I'm getting more and more nervous with each passing second.

"Radovic, Ivana." "RAVENCLAW!"

"Randall, Steven." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Smith, Thomas." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Snape, Severus."

My heart leaps into my throat and is pounding. A sudden cold sweat covers my palms and I have to wipe them on my robes. I feel sick and dizzy as I step up to the stool, and I think I'm going to faint, but just as the Hat comes down over my eyes I catch a glimpse of James Potter sneering at me, and I focus all my thoughts on repeating the words, 'Please don't be Gryffindor, please don't be Gryffindor,' over and over.

There is a brief pause, and a soft voice begins to speak in my ear.

"Interesting. Very interesting. You have qualities that would serve you well in any of the houses. So where should I put you?"

I concentrate harder on my plea. 'Please don't be Gryffindor.'

"Are you sure?" it asks. "You have a great amount of courage, Gryffindor would suit you well."

An image of James Potter's sneering face comes unbidden into my mind. I once again swear to do whatever it takes to beat him. 'Anything but Gryffindor.'

"It appears you also have the desire to prove yourself in abundance. If that is your choice, then... SLYTHEIN!"

It takes me a moment to stand up, such is my relief. Hopefully i wont have to see any of them very much at all.

I have to walk past Potter and the others at the Gryffindor table in order to get to the Slytherin table. He tries to trip me up by sticking out his foot but I notice what he's up to. I lean in close to him and say, "'ll get you back, Potter," before finally making it to join my new class mates.

I'm sat down just in time to hear that Wegrzyn, Simon has been sent to Ravenclaw, and as the final, massive cheer dies down I hear a voice call out across the room that somehow sounds both warm and welcoming, and manages to be entirely authoritative. Everyone around me looks towards the table at the other end of the Hall. A man is stood up down there, a man wearing long royal blue robes. He has long silver hair, and a flowing silver beard. This must be Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Mother told me all about him – he was her Transfiguration teacher, then was made Headmaster in her second year. She told me that if I ever have any problems I should go to him, and I can see why. I can almost see the power radiating off him, and deep within me I feel a desire building to be as powerful as him.

He bids us welcome to Hogwarts, runs through a brief list of rules, then says that he hopes we enjoy the feast. At this I look back down at the tables and am amazed to see it laden heavy with the most wonderful spread I have ever seen. I fill my plate high with roast chicken, yorkshire puddings, potatoes, carrots, broccoli and peas. Everything tastes delicious.

I have been so busy concentrating on my food that I have not been listening to the conversations around me. I do not wish to be left out and so I make a greater effort to join in.

the boy I am sat next to I recognise from the Sorting as Matthias Easterlow. He is talking about Quidditch, and although I have no interest in the sport I want to try and make friends.

"Personally," he is saying, "I can't wait until next year so I can try for the house team. I can play all positions, so I'm in with a better chance than most people. And of course, thanks to my father, I've got a great head-start."

I sense a chance to join in the conversation. "What does your father do, then?" I ask.

"He owns half the Shooting Star Racing Broom company."

I'm speechless. Matthias must be incredibly rich; I understand that Shooting Stars are some of the best brooms in the world.

"What's your name," he asks me.

I am a little nervous answering this. I make sure I speak clearly so that he cannot mis-hear me. "Severus."

"What's your surname?"

"Snape."

"Snape?" He pauses for a moment and looks thoughtful. "So what does your father do?"

I'm embarrassed answering this, especially in light of how glamorous his father is, but mother told me that honesty is the best policy, and so I tell him.

"He works in a bookies."

Matthias looks a little confused at this. "A what?" he says.

"A bookies," I repeat, then just to clarify I add, "A betting office."

Matthias' look of confusion turns quickly to one of disgust. "You don't mean ... He's not a Muggle, is he?"

"Yes," I answer, extremely hesitantly.

"Oh." He turns his back on me and carries on talking to the rest of the table.

I eat the rest of my meal in silence.


	2. 15th December 1971

A/N – Thanks to those of you have reviewed, it really makes it worthwhile. But to the rest of you – hit that little blueish button guys! It feeds my muse, and makes new chapters appear faster

Anyways, I'm hoping to take my time over Sev's character evolution, but (like in X-Men, lol) every once in a while, evolution takes a leap forward. I think we'll see a bit of that here. Hope you enjoy.

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15th December 1971

The morning post arrives as usual over breakfast but I do not bother to look up. The only correspondence I ever receive is from my mother but she no longer seems to want to reply to my letters. I send her a letter every week using the school owls, and at the start of term she replied straight away, but I have not heard from her in seven weeks now. Still, there's only a few more days to go until the end of term, and then I'll be going home for Christmas. I transfigured a stick into a rose during my lessons, and it doesn't appear to be dying, so I will give it to mother as a present. Hopefully when I go home I will find out the reason for mother's lack of correspondence and I pray the reason is not too sinister.

I take another bite of my toast and marmalade, and given my thoughts about mother I am most relieved when an owl lands in front of me, a letter in its beak. I snatch it up eagerly as I recognise mother's handwriting on the envelope. I tear this open and pull out the contents. Most disappointing. There is only one sheet of paper. I would have though that after seven weeks she could have written more than just one sheet. I unfold this and feel sick. There are barely two lines scrawled out.

'_My darling Severus,_

_Please stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. It would be for the best. I love you._

_Mum xx'_

I read this again and again, secretly hoping that by doing so more writing will appear, but none does. Her words are truly ominous. I did not want to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, but mother obviously thinks things have got so bad at home that she does not want me to see it.

I look up at the staff table and see Professor Dumbledore in conversation with Professor Slughorn. I wonder if I asked either of them, then maybe mother could come here too. I do not wish for her to be at home if it is not safe.

I am just re-reading the note once more when suddenly it is snatched from my grasp. It is Potter. I want to Hex him into oblivion but cannot with so many teachers present.

"Who likes you enough to actually bother writing, Snivellus?" he says, then laughs as he quickly scans the note from mother. He hands it to Sirius who soon starts laughing also. "Your own mum doesn't want you home for Christmas?"

"Can't say I blame her," says Sirius. "Who would want him?"

"Must be terrible to have a mum who hates you. What does that feel like, Snivellus?"

I feel a small sense of satisfaction at this, as I have a comeback that neither of them expect. "I don't know, Potter. Why don't you ask Black here?"

Black's smile freezes on his face. "What?"

"My mother doesn't hate me. Just the opposite. But yours does, doesn't she, Black?"

I can see his fists clenching, but he can't do anything at the moment. "You shut up, you greasy little bastard."

"I'm right though, aren't I? I'm not the only one who's not going home for Christmas, am I?"

"So he's coming to mine, so what?" says James. "At least he's got somewhere to go."

Sirius cuts straight in across him. "How do you know this?"

There are a lot of sons and daughters of very notable pure-blood families in Slytherin, and a lot of gossiping goes on in the common room. From what I hear, Black's mother and father are very upset to find that he has broken the family tradition by not being in Slytherin. They are also appalled to hear that he is friends with half-bloods and muggle-borns. (I have soon learned to keep my own muggle heritage quiet, as it is very much frowned upon by a lot of the Slytherins) But I'm not going to tell Black any of this. I'm enjoying watching his discomfort too much. "I'm not telling you, Black, so get lost." I snatch the note from mother back out of his hands, and sit down to finish my breakfast. I watch them slink away, talking furiously between themselves, and I know I'll pay later, but right now I don't care. I have more important things to worry about.

I try and smooth out mother's note which got very creased during my confrontation with Potter and Black. I hastily scribble a reply.

'_Do you want me to find out if you can stay here for Christmas. Please write straight back,_

_love Severus x'_

I check my watch; I have ten minutes before our lessons start. If I hurry I can get down to the owlery and send this off straight away. I only hope mother replies as urgently as I wish her to.

* * *

20th December 1971

I have still yet to receive a reply from mother. This worries me deeply. Perhaps I should have placed greater stress on the urgency with which I wanted to hear from her.

The train home leaves today. There are very few people staying at Hogwarts, and I feel jealous of every single person I see with packed bags. Christmas at home may not be much, but I have not seen mother in nearly four months, and now I will not see her until easter at the earliest. I hope she will be safe on her own with father. Hopefully all will be well. Father does tend to drink even more over Christmas, and while it sometimes makes him even more short-tempered, over Christmas it seems to relax him to the point of being almost happy. I see no reason why this year should be any different. Either way, it also sends him to sleep early, so mother should be able to get a fair amount of respite from him.

I make my way back to the Slytherin common room. It is practically deserted, except for two seventh years. I recognise one of them as Lucius Malfoy, a Slytherin prefect. I do not know the name of the girl he is talking to, but they seem to be very close. All the Slytherin girls in my year fancy him, and it is easy to see why. He exudes a quiet, easy confidence that never seems to come across as arrogance. His features are noble and defined. His grades are exemplary. He comes from an old, rich family, and his taste is classy and understated. He is popular and always seems to find time for everyone, even us younger students if we need help. It is a wonder that Professor Dumbledore didn't make him Head Boy, but I suppose he has his reasons.

Lucius is obviously also going home for Christmas; the beautiful black leather luggage around his feet could not possibly belong to anyone else.

He briefly looks up from his conversation with the girl and catches my eyes. I am extremely embarrassed as I don't want him to think I was staring, but he inclines his head slightly towards me in acknowledgment then returns his attention to the girl. His simple gesture makes me feel privileged to have been noticed.

I go upstairs to my dormitory. It is empty, as everyone in my year is going home. I want to send mother's flower today so it arrives in plenty of time for Christmas. I carefully wrap it in tissue paper and place it into a box. I want to ensure it doesn't get damaged on the journey home. I take one more look at it before I pack it away, and smile as I think how proud she will be when she sees how much I have already learned. As I close the lid I feel a small jolt of excitement cursing through me, and I imagine watching her open her gift from me. The image carries me through to the owlery and back to the common room, and with a sense of satisfaction I take a seat by the fire in the now empty common room, and read late into the night.

* * *

25th December 1971

I wake slowly this morning. My bed is warm and soft and comfortable, and I will myself to drift back into a deep a slumber. I soon remember that it is Christmas and am awake with a start. I sit up straight and am excited to see a small wrapped package at the foot of my bed. I quickly pick it up, and find that there is a card to go with it. I open this first.

'_My darling Severus,_

_Happy Christmas! I hope you are well, and I miss you dearly. Please don't worry about me – things will sort themselves out soon enough. Hope you like your present!_

_All my love, mum xxx'_

I turn my attention to the package. I open this slowly, relishing every moment. I can feel through the paper that the present is hard and contoured, but I don't know what it could be.

She has wrapped it in layers. I remove the first layer of paper and a small piece of parchment falls out. I read this before opening any more.

'_This is something very special, Severus. When I was younger I used to enjoy art and sculpture. I made this before I met your father. It is time I passed it on to you.'_

I am getting really excited now. I had no idea mother was in any way artistic. It also means a lot to me that she made it. As she said, it is very special. I'm glad I made her something in return; it means more than a gift bought in haste without any thought.

I open the next layer and another note falls out.

'_A Prince for my Prince'_

I smile as I read this one; mother sometimes calls me her prince. I like it when she calls me that because I can pretend to be a real prince, with lots of power and money and servants, and I think mother likes to call me that because it reminds her of who she was before she met father; Prince was her maiden name.

I quickly tear away the final layer of wrapping. In my hands is a small statuette of a man. A crown adorns his noble head. In one hand he holds a wand, in the other a sword. He is quite clearly magical royalty. I allow myself another smile as I re-read mother's note '_A Prince for my Prince.'_

The detail is incredible, and I marvel at how mother has managed to keep such a talent hidden all these years. I trace my fingers along all the contours of the statuette. She made this before she knew my father. The thought excites me. This is a connection to her before he made her life so bad, before he tainted her. I place the Prince on my bedside table and wish I could help her leave him. I wish I could make her happy.

I shouldn't be sad. Today is Christmas! And I have the whole of Hogwarts to explore, all by myself. I pack the notes into my trunk, where I keep all of mother's letters, and place the card next to my Prince.

I quickly get washed and dressed and practically run to me first destination. Since the holidays began I have had the library all to myself. I don't think I could ever get bored of such a magnificent place.

I slowly push open the door to my own personal heaven. I expect to see Madam Pince, the librarian, in her usual place behind her desk, but today she is absent.

A sudden though comes to me; if Madam Pince is not here, I am free to look around wherever I wish in the library, and that includes the Restricted Section. Since strating at Hogwarts I have found myself drawn towards the Restricted Section. We are told we are too young for such knowledge, that those books are for older students for research purposes only, but I don't understand why. We are told that they contain Dark Magic, but I cannot see the problem. In my mind there is no such thing as Dark magic, only Dark intentions. I fail to see how the acquisition of knowledge can ever be wrong. And, surely, if a 'Dark' spell is used to save a life, then it cannot be truly evil. If we do not understand such magic, then we become susceptible to it, and Dark magic evolves more than any other. I want to understand how and why, and the answers lie within the Restricted Section.

I soon reach the entrance. My heart begins to flutter, and my stomach feels like lead. I do not wish to get into trouble. But my curiosity and desire for knowledge needs to be sated and so I take a step up towards the entrance. The very air around me seems to be pulsating slightly with a strange energy, a power that I have every desire to be a part of.

I edge closer still when a shrill voice cuts through me. "Severus Snape! Come away from there at once!"

It is Madam Pince. I've been caught! I cannot believe it, but I've been caught! I feel a swell of panic inside – I know perfectly well that these books are off limits, and yet here I am, about to charge blindly in. She will report me Professor Dumbledore, I know it.

I keep my head down as I shuffle towards her, working out the best way to apologise. As I get nearer a familiar smell greets my nostrils; the smell of cheap sherry. I recognise the smell from my father. I look up and Madam Pince is swaying very slightly. I try my best to look sheepish and say, "Sorry."

A smile creeps over her lips; she is clearly drunk as a lord. "That's OK," she giggles. "No harm done." I run out of the library and hear, "Merry Christmas!" called after me.

It was a narrow escape and my heart is beating much faster than usual. However, I will not be beaten so easily. There is information in those books that I have to lay my hands on, and I will get at it, no matter what it takes.

* * *

26th December 1971

I am woken up early this morning by some strange disturbance. I hear a sound like scratching. At first I am disoriented, and think it must be a dream, but I am suddenly shaken awake by the sight of a ghostly apparition at my window.

I quickly rub the sleep out of my eyes, and allow my breathing to return to normal when I realise it is not a ghost at my window, but merely an owl, a letter clutched in its beak. This is rather an unusual event, as mostly the post arrives at breakfast. In fact, I was unaware that owls delivered at other times in Hogwarts. Still, I am intrigued now as to what news the owl could be bringing me at such a late hour, and so I hurry out of bed, and rush to open the window.

As the owl flies in, it brings with it a gust of icy wind. I hurriedly shut the window after it, and pull a jumper over my head. The owl lands on my bed. I look on disapprovingly as it shakes its damp feathers all over my nice, clean, warm covers, then as it closes its eyes as if to go to sleep, I re-open the window for it to fly out. It seems somewhat reluctant to leave. I cannot say I am surprised.

With a degree of resignation I shut the window and allow the bird to settle. I have more important things than sleep now anyway, such as the excitement of my midnight letter. I put on my warm winter robes, and go downstairs to the deserted common room. The sun is just starting to rise behind the snow clouds outside, and this bathes the common room in a murky grey light. However, I am pleased to discover that the fires have already been lit, and so I take my letter, and with it sit down in one of the comfortable leather armchairs.

I open the envelope, which is blank, and take out the contents. It is a letter from mother. I see instantly that it is heavily tear stained, and written in a shaky hand. I swallow to try and keep my nerves steady, but feel intensely sick as I am worried about what I will read. I take a deep breath and start the letter.

_My dearest darling Severus,_

_I am so sorry. I want you to know that I love you and always will, my special little Prince. But I'm weak, and life is just too much for me now. Don't blame yourself. You're a fighter, Severus, a survivor, and I'll always be with you in spirit. _

_Love you now and always_

_Mum xxx_

Around me the world seems to have come to a complete standstill. I'm no longer breathing. I read the note again. I turn it over to see if there is more on the other side, but there is nothing. I don't understand what this means. In the back of my mind there is a sinking feeling, and comprehension slowly creeps over me like the cold, slimy hand of disease, but I do not want to admit even the faintest possibility that it could be true.

Mother is dead. She is dead and I never got to see her again. She is dead, and her husband, my father, is alive. Anger rapidly swells inside me. He hated her, he beat her, he hated her magic, he hated everything, and now she is dead. I picture him, and all I can see is filth. Dirty, ugly, drunk, overbearing, violent, filthy muggle.

I seem to be in a trance, and all that I am aware of is him, and how much I hate him for what he has done, and how good it will feel when I kill him. I will poison him. I will make a potion that will have him screaming in agony. But for that I need to get at those books hidden away in the Restricted Section. I need them now, for all that will stop the noise in my head will be his death.

At dawn I am vaguely aware of a bustling around me, as the news of my mother's demise reaches the ears of my professors. I do not trouble myself with their words of condolence and pity. I allow the words to wash over me. They ask if I wish to go home now and be with the rest of my family, but I forcibly decline. I think this action worries them somewhat, but I do not care. I have a death to plan.


	3. 6th January 1972

6th January 1972

The thronging masses have returned to Hogwarts. I cannot bear the sight of them as news of my personal tragedy has spread fast and I am the subject of looks both of curiosity and of dire pity. I have no need of pity. Even precocious Potter seems to have backed off at the moment. I don't know which is worse; having him constantly at my neck, or knowing that he is not attacking me at the moment because he feels sorry for me.

I have, as yet, failed in my quest to enter the Restricted Section. I have only a few days left before I am forced to endure the man I hate most in this world; in act of calculated sadism, my father has decided that my ideal birthday present would be to attend my mother's funeral. I have until the 9th to find the perfect poison with which to despatch him. This would be a far more fitting present for me. The death of Tobias Snape.

I know I am becoming obsessed with this, but it is all that seems to be keeping me going. More and more I am becoming ashamed of the fact that I have tainted Muggle blood and I find that I am now suspicious of anyone who comes from a Muggle family.

The lessons and days are rolling into one, and the only lesson in which I am able to concentrate is Potions. I sit at the front and listen eagerly to Professor Slughorn for any information, any vital little clue which will enable me to kill him and get away with it.

It is strangely ironic that the only other person whom has even the slightest ability in this class, and the person who for whatever reason insists on sitting near me in every lesson, is a Muggle born girl by the name of Lily Evans. Her talent for the class merely provokes me, and she is yet another who gives me a simpering look of pity every time I catch her eye.

Professor Slughorn enters the class room, jovial as ever, and invites us to begin brewing. The potion seems simple enough but the level of incompetence around me is obvious. It is not long before some idiot makes a blindingly stupid mistake, and the classroom is engulfed in a haze of thick smoke. It takes little effort to work out that the culprit is the imbecile Pettigrew. I have never come across anyone so inept at everything.

Through the haze of smoke I can see Evans smiling and her laugh rings out like a clear bell. Apparently she finds such a level of ineptitude amusing. I find lack of talent to be no laughing matter, and I turn away in disgust. I am in no mood for such frivolities. Even with my back turned I can picture the scene; Pettigrew, fat lump that he is, in the middle of everything with blackened face, Potter & Black laughing their heads off at such a 'welcome' distraction, Lupin desperately using what minimal physical strength he possesses to lift the brute from the floor, and Evans, in front of it all, watching me with an assessing eye, sickening sympathy coming out of every pore…

I turn back and the real world is exactly as I had seen it with my mind's eye. Evans takes a shuffling step towards me.

"Severus, can we talk?" she says to me over the din. Somehow she seemed to whisper, and yet I could hear her every word as clear as if we were standing in the library.

I am unexplainably incensed that she had the nerve to talk to me. I don't know why, but I am filled with uncontrollable anger that someone so… so… _perfect_… could have nothing but Muggle blood.

I purposefully ignore her. I will not speak to her, and I will not allow someone like that to come near me. She once again asks me if we can talk. I brusquely snap back the single word answer of 'no' and carry on as if she weren't there.

It appears that she will not be dissuaded so readily. She once again implores me to talk, and I can see tears welling in those bright green eyes, and again she somehow whispers and yet I her everything, "I'm so worried about you." At these words she reaches out and I feel her fingertips brush my hand.

I am filled with a kind of creeping horror. No one has ever touched me like that apart from my mother, and at once I have to push her away, I feel so violated, so contaminated, and I scream at her to stay away from me, and that I don't need help from a filthy mudblood like her.

As I shout there is, predictably enough, a lull in the noise in the room. I hear several gasps at my utterance of such foul language. I know instantly that I am in trouble, as Professor Slughorn's face has turned the colour of a stormy sky. From the look on both Potter's and Black's faces, the delicate truce they were keeping in the wake of mother's death has ended. The tears that were silently threatening to fall from Evan's eyes a few moments ago do, but now they are filled with rage rather than sadness.

Matthias Easterlow is barely able to control his laughter. "That's rich coming from you!" he sniggers. "You're nothing but a half blood yourself!"

Slughorn shouts at me that I have a detention and to get out of his classroom. I storm out as fast as I can, not bothering to clear away my things. There is anger inside of me which I can feel growing out of control, but I force myself into a strained kind of calm. I will not allow anyone to see the emotions that have been stirred up inside me.

How dare they! I'll show them. I'll show Potter that he is not better than me. I'll teach Evans for being so good at everything and yet being some common Muggle who thinks she is actually worth enough to speak to me. And as for Matthias? I'll show him. I'm more than just a half-blood. Mother thought I was a prince. I'll show him.

Without thinking I find myself walking a path that is becoming more familiar to me than any other in this school. Before I even realise it I am back in the library, and in a kind of blind rage I soon find myself at the entrance to the Restricted Section. I feel reckless, but I do not care. If ridding myself of that filthy Muggle father of mine helps alleviate the pain I have felt since mother's death even for only a few seconds it will be entirely worth it.

A nervous excitement overcomes my entire body as I step up to the threshold that will take me to the precious knowledge. With reckless abandon I march straight forward but as per usual it is not long before I am stopped. This time, however, the one preventing me from entering is not a foe in the shape of a teacher, or even an enemy of any kind at all. It is Lucius Malfoy.

"I wonder, Severus, what could possibly be so interesting in the Restricted Section that you would be willing to risk a punishment as severe as expulsion to get to it?" His voice rings out behind me, and I shift my weight guiltily. I had no idea I was being watched. I must learn to be more careful.

"Nothing," I lie.

His clear grey eyes watch me intensely, and I find I am unable to look straight at him. For the very first time since mother's death I find myself slowly succumbing to weakness and fatigue, and the tears soon stream silently down my face.

"I am most truly sorry for your loss, Severus. Perhaps we could talk? It may help you to share such a terrible burden."

Almost against my will I follow him out of the library, along the currently deserted corridors of Hogwarts. Behind many of the doors I hear the buzz of excitement as everyone learns and perfects their craft, and for a fleeting moment I wish I could join in, and just for once be accepted. But that is clearly not to be my fate.

Malfoy leads me back to the Slytherin common room. He invites me to take a seat by the fire. There are already a couple of seventh years sat in the best armchairs, but at a look from Malfoy they quickly desert the area, leaving us alone. I am most uncomfortable now, as I do not wish to share my current feelings, but more importantly I do not wish anyone to know my secret desire for revenge.

"Tell me, Severus, what exactly it was you were looking for in the Restricted Section. Most first year students have no desire to go anywhere near it, but you, I have noticed, have taken a most particular interest in the place, especially of late."

I remain absolute in my silence.

"Do not think I am chiding you, Severus. I feel, especially given the tragic events of recent times, that I am bound to help you. I merely ask what you are looking for. Perhaps I can even help you."

My ears prick up. I slowly turn my eyes towards him. He cannot surely know what I wish to do, otherwise he would not offer his help. And I cannot tell him what I wish to do; if he told anyone else I would end up in prison for the rest of my life. But for all that, somehow, I trust him. And the burden of my terrible secret desire weighs so heavy upon me that I feel sometimes I will break with the effort of keeping it inside. And so I make a decision that may be against my better judgement, but for now it doesn't matter. "Promise you wont tell anyone."

His look becomes once more appraising. "You have my word that whatever you tell me will not pass my lips."

I swallow hard. I furtively look around to check that no-one is listening to our conversation, but the room is empty. Now is the moment of truth. My heart beats like a drum and rises into my throat, almost blocking my voice. "I'm going to kill my father."

I wait for the axe to fall, but the inevitable blow simply does not come. Instead Malfoy sits opposite me, nodding gently, deep in thought. "Your father is a Muggle, is he not?"

"I'm not proud!" I cut quickly across him.

"Naturally. But you misunderstand me. I was merely asking for information."

"Yes, he's Muggle."

"And how exactly were you planning on dispatching this Muggle father of yours?"

"I.. I'm good at Potions. I wanted to poison him, but couldn't find anything in the regular text books. I thought there might be something in the Restricted Section."

He gives a small, wry smile. "Oh, there is, Severus. Many, many descriptions of poisons, and recipes for potions that would leave your father begging for death to come."

I picture the scene; the man who killed my dear mother actually begging me to kill him. It is a wonderful image, and the pain recedes slightly.

Malfoy interrupts my daydream. "But I do not think that is wise."

I am instantly crestfallen I placed my greatest trust in Malfoy, and he has let me down already. "You said you'd help me!" I hiss at him.

"And help you I will. Think, though, Severus. Do you have any other living relatives?"

"No."

"Precisely. So the death of your father would force you into care. The Muggle Authorities would see to that. At least your father knows what you are; if you were in care you would be forced to keep your true, wizarding identity a complete secret, lest the Muggles found out, and you would be expelled.

"More so than that, even Muggles have ways of detecting poisons. They would know that your father had been murdered, and investigations could lead them to you.

"However, you have another option. I know a way of killing Muggles that is completely undetectable by all Muggle sciences. They would not even be aware that your father had been murdered. To all intents and purposes, it would appear that he had simply died in his sleep. You would get away completely blame-free."

"Teach me," I say eagerly.

He smiles his small, wry smile once more. "No. Not yet. You are too young. The spell is an immensely complicated one, and far beyond your level yet." I open my mouth in protest. "I am not patronising you. But I promise that when you are ready to learn, I will be ready to teach you. Now, I feel it is best we end this conversation. Classes will soon be over, and I daresay that whichever teacher threw you out of their classroom for whatever your transgression was, will be wanting words with you soon. You had better head back to wherever you should be."

I get up and walk towards the door leading back out of the common room. The weight already seems to have lifted slightly, and the pain is indeed receding. I quickly turn back towards Malfoy, who has been watching me leave. "Thank you," I say, before running as quickly as I can back towards Professor Slughorn's class room.

I make it just in time. I am slightly out of breath when the door opens and all the students come filing out as quickly as possible. Potter jolts into me, winding me slightly, but he dare not do anything more with Professor Slughorn in such close proximity.

Once everyone has vacated the area I re-enter the classroom to collect my things. I vaguely hear Professor Slughorn telling me that he is going to let me off as it is a 'first-offence' especially given 'the current circumstances,' but that he must impress upon me 'the seriousness of the situation,' and that the kind of language I used 'must never, ever be used in polite society.' I utter a half hearted apology, and leave as quickly as I can, my head buzzing with excitement. I know now that one day my dream will come true. One day I will have Tobias Snape at my mercy.


	4. 30th June 1972

A/N – I really must apologise for keeping everyone waiting for so long. My career has been beckoning, and it needed a little attention. Not only that, but they do say that contentment is the enemy of invention, and I have been extremely happy since moving in with me fella

However, I really want to get this story finished before book 7 comes out, and so I made myself get cracking. I'm also sorry about the short length of this chapter, but I promise that the next one is nearly finished and will be updated really soon. Also the chapter after that is written, so that will also be out soon.

Having said that, I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to review!

Cheers,

Jess xx

* * *

30th June 1972

Today is the last day of my first year at Hogwarts. Today I leave the relative sanctuary I have found here and return to stay with my father for two months. I have not seen him since mother's funeral and I am apprehensive about spending summer alone with him.

I think back to mother's funeral and I am chilled by the loneliness of it. The sole attendees were myself and my father. She was cremated, and the ashes were now in a pot that father was given. I do not know what he did with them afterwards as I have not stayed in contact with him. In fact, I am not entirely sure he knows that he is supposed to be picking me up from the station tonight. Much as I would love to be free of him, I do not relish the prospect of being penniless and alone in London. I wish there was someone who could help me.

I would ordinarily go to Lucius, who has kept a close watch over me since our fireside conversation in January, which has had the welcome side-effect that I am drawing less unwanted attention from certain people in my year. However, I know that he will not be on the train tonight. He and his girlfriend, Narcissa Black, have arranged an evening out in Hogsmeade to celebrate leaving school and will be getting alternative transport home.

I feel a pang of nervousness as I realise that he will not be here as my talisman against harm next year. I will have to learn to better defend myself.

The evening is sultry and balmy as we wait for the train to arrive. Thus far I have managed to elude Potter and his little brigade. I could not handle a repetition of the journey in September.

I look back over the events of this year, and swallow a lump which has unexpectedly risen in my throat. I have been learning to suppress my emotions in order not to draw further unwanted attention. But everything that I have been through this year… I feel that there are certain privileged ones who never experience that much pain in their entire lives.

Someone walks into me from behind. The surprise makes me stumble and I nearly fall over, righting my balance only just in time. I am not surprised to see that my assailant is none other than James Potter. He makes no attempt to apologise for his transgression and I make a mental note to get him back for it later.

Before long the train arrives at the station and I begin looking for a place to sit. I am not close to anyone in Slytherin in my year, and although their company would be preferable to anyone else's, they haven't asked me to join them, and I feel embarrassed assuming that I can. Instead I happen across a carriage that contains four older students whom I recognise from the Slytherin common room, but have never spoken to. I slide the door open and ask if it would be ok for me to join them. The largest of the four stands up and says, "Depends. Do you know how to keep your mouth shut?"

Too late to back out now, I nod my head and stay silent. The boy smiles and says, "Take a seat."

It is not long before the boys resume their conversation. I soon learn that they have all just finished their fourth year. The boy who allowed me into the carriage, Evan Rosier, seems to be leader of their gang.

For a while they discuss everyday things; homework, teachers, other students, until Evan says, "So… about what we were discussing earlier."

The other boys look slightly alarmed and one of them, whom I now know is called Raoul pointedly looks at me and back to Evan. "Do you think it's a good idea?"

"Why not?" asks Evan. "He's told us he can keep his mouth shut." Evan shifts his attention on to me. "Have you heard of the Dark Lord, kid?"

I confess I do not know a great deal, only rumours and whispers that a man will be taking over one day and everyone who is not worthy, namely muggle-borns, will be killed. I do not know what position this leaves me in, having a muggle father, but it is not an issue I want to press. "I've heard of him," I say in answer to Evan's question.

"And what have you heard?"

"Not much," I answer truthfully.

"What do you think of muggles?"

An image of my father comes to my mind, and it makes me feel sick that soon I am going to be staying with him for two months, away from magic and with my mother in her lonely death. "I hate them," I spit out, with every ounce of venom I can muster.

"Good answer," Evan says with a smile. "I like this kid," he tells the rest of the group, and for the first time in my life, I feel accepted.

The rest of the journey home is taken up by the group swapping stories of this Dark Lord, and how they cannot wait to be able to join him. According to the group, if you join with him he has the power to grant your every wish. I could have my enemies trembling with fear at what I could do to them.

As we leave the train my head is buzzing with possibilities, although I am still nervous about whether the Dark Lord would accept someone with a muggle father. But I could prove how much I hate him, and when Lucius teaches me the killing spell I could finally be free of him forever, and the Dark Lord would accept me as his half-blood prince, and I would have all the power and wealth I desire.

I get off the train and do not bother to look around for anyone greeting me here, for father would not be able to get on to the platform. Instead I begin dragging my case towards the magical barrier that will give me entry into the despised Muggle world.

No sooner have I crossed back than I spot him. I look so similar to him that it makes me feel queasy. We have the same features, but I'm not the same. He looks dirty, unshaven, and as I approach him he drops a hand rolled cigarette on the floor and stubs it out with his boot. He once kicked me with those same boots, and I am scared that he will attempt to do so again before summer is over.

He looks awkward as I approach him. He greets me with a half smile and places a hand on my shoulder. Before I am able to shrug him off he hen bends down until he is level with me and pulls me into a hug. "Welcome home, Sev."

For a second I feel like a member of a normal family, and I hesitantly return the hug. Then I smell his scent, of stale tobacco, and sweat, and cheap alcohol, and I have to pull away. I feel normal for a second.

But only for a second.

1st September 1972

Finally after what seems like an age of confinement, I have returned to my natural place in this world. I am back at Hogwarts.

The summer holidays were long and difficult. At first father was good to me. He seemed determined to keep up the façade that we were a normal, loving family. He gave me some of mother's old possessions which even included her old school books. These were of immeasurable help when the new book lists were sent out as it meant that I didn't have to ask father for as much money.

But, as the days wore on I noticed father losing his temper more and more quickly. I thanked the gods for the time I was able to spend alone at the house, but when he returned from work he would pour himself a drink, and then another, and then another. He would soon start chiding me for any slightest misdemeanour, and his anger would often escalate into violence.

I check my arms are covered. The summer was blazing hot, and indeed the sun still beats down on us now, but I am wearing my full robes. I do not want anyone in my year to see the cigarette burns that adorn them.

I tried to stay out of his way over summer, but whatever I did was incorrect. If I stayed in my room I was accused of being 'a freak,' and if I came out I was simply in his way.

Still at least I have a whole ten months without him. I will happily stay here over Christmas and Easter. I may even ask Professor Dumbledore if he would allow me to stay here over summer. I'm sure he would listen, and if he only knew the circumstances, he wouldn't allow me to go back to that…

I while away a few happy moments imagining staying here over summer, with no one else around, being able to go wherever I please, then I bring myself back to the present. All the students were moving along the platform, away from Hagrid. I was unsure of what method of transportation would take us up to the school this year, but it clearly wasn't by boat.

I had, thankfully, managed to avoid sharing a carriage on the train with Potter and his friends, and instead had spent the journey with Evan Rosier's gang. I now struggle to keep up with him with all the people bustling everywhere, but I feel protected by his gang, and they seem to have accepted me. Without Lucius here to guide me I feel much safer knowing that there will be someone I can turn to.

We soon arrive at our destination; a long line of carriages await us. They are clearly not motorised, and no animal is tethered to them to pull us along, but I have long ago learned to accept that in the magical world you don't need motors or horses to get around.

I am able to squeeze into a carriage with Evan, and before long we pull away, and I am finally home again.


End file.
